


Don't Want You to be Gone

by britchick101 (somebodyswatson)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebodyswatson/pseuds/britchick101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's thoughts on Sherlock's death a year after The Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Want You to be Gone

Standing by your grave, even after all of this time, is so surreal. It's like a dream. I look at your gravestone and it feels like I'm looking at a picture that somebody photo shopped your name into as a cruel joke.

Do you realise it's been over a year now? It feels like it's been forever and like it was yesterday at the same time. I can hear your voice in my head telling me that's ludicrous, they're antonyms, they contradict each other, but I don't care. If you were stood in front of me saying it I'd ignore you so I'll ignore the you in my head too.

They offered me the day off work, you know, the anniversary, but I turned them down so we had a minutes silence instead. Greg phoned, and we talked about you, remembering crazy things you did and imagining what you'd be doing now if you hadn't...

Work is going well, by the way. Without you to distract me and demand me home half way through the day I'm managing to get stuff done. I got a promotion recently, actually, so now get to do wonderful things like house calls. I don't rush off back home any more though. I can't get used to you not being there.

There's so much I wish I'd said to you. That thing you did was so unexpected that I never had chance. Like, I wanted to tell you to stop being so anal about how your socks in your drawer are arranged, then leave the ones you've worn in odd places around the house. And, yes I can hear when you sing in the shower. And, I can tell when you've used my hairbrush, because your hair is a different colour to mine. And yes I noticed you set up a personalised ringtone for my calls on your phone. And you were the most amazing person I have ever met and am ever likely to meet. Actually, I think you knew that last one.

I should have said that at your funeral. I wish I'd planned what I was going to say, but at the time I just couldn't. I sort of thought that the words would just come to me when I got up there, and while some did, there was so much I left out. Anyway, planning a speech would have meant admitting in my head that you were gone and I wasn't ready to do that yet. I saw it with my own eyes but didn't want to believe it. I still don't want to believe it.

Besides, there were people there more worthy of the time at the front than me, or so they thought at least. I was just the person who lived with you, they were family. Your mother weeping into a black lace hanky. Your brother's dry, cringeworthy jokes. Mrs Hudson practically wailing. I couldn't be part of that. I had to distance myself from it all to cope.

I have a new flatmate now. Her name is Mary. I don't think you'd like her, she's the opposite of you in almost every possible way, but I think that's why she's good. If she was anything like you then it'd be like replacing you, and that's something I could never do. You're one of a kind; there is nobody in the world who could even come close.

Please let this be a dream. I've said it before, I'll say it again, please, please don't be dead. It's the sort of thing you could do. Just don't be gone.

I don't want you to be gone.


End file.
